


The Fear

by Vinnocent



Series: Wolfstuck [6]
Category: Homestuck, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Cults, Dubcon Kissing, Family Drama, Gun Violence, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Panic Attacks, Stabdads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6351664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinnocent/pseuds/Vinnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which revelations are made regarding a certain school, two survivors, a puppet, and an unknown mother. Contains references to child abuse and sexual misconduct as well as scenes of intense violence. Also contains one (1) existential crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been back from vacation for a while, but it took a while to get back into the swing of things. Funny enough, I'm about to go see family for Easter. But I'll post the rest when I get back on Monday ;)

**17 years ago…**

Lilianne Lalonde’s attention was diverted from her textbook by the sound of a crash. Swearing under her breath, she ran from her bedroom to the main room of her shitty little apartment to check on her newly acquired guests. Little Dirk The Second Strider was sitting next to a fallen lamp looking surprised by this mystery of cause and effect. Tutting, she hurried over to scoop him up in her arms. “Dirk, I know you’re very busy being catatonic, but do you think you could…” She trailed off as she turned to the couch that Dirk Strider (the first) had crashed on yesterday afternoon and not moved from since. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t yet eaten one goddamn thing and had only gone to the bathroom once. So when, exactly, did he acquire the large, clown-like ventriloquist dummy sitting on his stomach, staring down at him while he stared back into its beady blue eyes?

“Uh… Dirk?” she asked. Dirk II was already squirming and whining to get out of her arms, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the puppet.

Dirk grunted a reply.

“What’s that?”

He glanced briefly to her before returning his attention to the puppet. “Cal,” he said.

“Um, where’d he come from?”

“Motherfucker’s a thing as has always been,” Dirk mumbled.

“... Right.” Liliane looked down at the little boy who was now whining and making grabbing motions for the puppet and wondered if she should call an exit therapist. Would he leave her if she didn’t? What would he leave if she did? When was he going to be himself again? The bright, brilliant boy she’d known in childhood… Her first crush… Was he gone forever?

She looked back to Dirk and yelped in surprise, jumping back and almost dropping Dirk II, at the sight of the puppet suddenly sitting on the arm of the couch, staring back at her. Dirk was sitting up behind it. Of course, he must have set it there when he sat up. Of course… “Do you want something to eat?” she asked.

He smirked up at her in a way that wasn’t remotely kind, and she pulled Dirk II closer to her chest. “You askin’ me to eat’cha?” he asked with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s crude even for you, and kind of inappropriate when I’m holding your son, and to be honest, I’m really exhausted, and _some of us_ have school tomorrow. I still don’t know who’s going to watch you, and－ What?”

He’d stood from the couch, watching her closely as he slowly encroached until he was standing right in front of her. “Ain’t that whatcha been wantin’ all the long?” he asked. “First day to last. An’ now here ya stand, my motherfuckin’ hero. And all with no kind of reward? Sounds all kinds unrighteous to me.” He reached out, took Dirk II from her, and set the little boy back on the floor.

“I think…”

“Don’t.” And then he pushed her against the wall and kissed her. “Come on, doctor,” he whispered with a quiet laugh against her jaw. “Gimme your cure… Fix me right… Make me forget…”

* * *

**Now…**

Bro climbed out of his pickup, slammed the door shut, and locked it with the remote. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he made his way to the front door of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Station. Inside, he nodded to the officer at the desk, and she nodded back, though she did look a little perplexed. He didn’t need to identify himself; they knew him here. But it _was_ pretty rare that he voluntarily walked in the front door, in uniform no less. He also didn’t need to ask anyone where Stilinski’s office was, instead heading straight there.

He opened the door to find Sheriff Stilinski and the Mayor of Fairvale chatting pleasantly like it was any other day, any other political visit. As far as the Mayor knew, it was, so Stilinski kept the friendly vibe going as he looked up and smiled at Bro. “Sheriff Strider! Come on in!”

Bro went in, nodded a greeting to the Mayor, who smiled and nodded back.

Stilinski shuffled a few papers together as he stood. “Well, I guess now that everyone’s here, we can finally head on to the school,” he said.

The Mayor nodded and stood, but seemed to hesitate. “I must say,” he said quietly, “I’m a bit confused as to why I need two sheriffs as escort?”

Said sheriffs exchanged guilty glances. Bro quickly lied, “Well, the whole point of this meeting is to see if this school is a better solution for the young women that unfortunately make their way into Fair County jails and prisons. Your assistant thought it a good idea to get Stilinski’s input on how that’s going for him as well as mine on how it might work for us.”

“That does sound reasonable,” the Mayor admitted, scratching at his chin.

“Yep, that it is,” Stilinski said quickly, herding the tiny old man as gently as possible toward the door. “So, yeah, let’s go. Give our opinions.”

Bro rolled his eyes as they passed. And he’d thought Dave was a bad liar…

* * *

You shove your algebra book into your locker, close it, spin the lock, turn around, and absolutely do not screech like a little girl to find Karkat standing behind you, arms crossed and looking intensely uncomfortable, though that quickly gives way to staring up at you with total bewilderment. “Strider, what the hell?” he demands. “Why are you so jumpy?”

“Urg, sorry,” you say. “Gamzee snuck up on me last night and gave me the unholy creeps and, oh, uh, I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned that to you?”

He shrugs tensely and doesn’t look you in the eyes. Awe, man. “No, it’s fine. He hasn’t spoken to me in over a year, and even then, it was barely coherent rambling,” he says. You notice that phrasing was ‘he hasn’t spoken to me’ and was not ‘I haven’t spoken to him,’ but you do have at least enough sense to not bring that up.

“Okay,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say. “Um.”

“So about that, um, date you mentioned…” Karkat says, back to looking intensely uncomfortable and still not looking you in the eye. My, what an interesting locker must exist just to your left.

“Oh, uh, right!” you say. “So, um, like, do you－?”

“I was actually wondering if you were talking about the formal?” he mumbles.

You blink at him. “The what now?”

Finally, he looks you in the eye, discomfort giving away to incredulity, which you suppose is a sort of victory. “The school dance?” he suggests. When he doesn’t get an immediate response, he sighs heavily and says, “Which, obviously, you know nothing about, because you’re socially inept.”

“Hey, I’ve been distracted lately!” you argue, and he gives you a fake-unamused look in an attempt to cover the blush. You hadn’t meant that line as flirting, but you’re definitely owning it as such now. “But, I mean, yeah, if you want to－”

“Hell, no!” he objects loudly. Pft. “But, um, Aradia’s been sulking since it was announced, and it’s on Friday, and no one has asked her. Probably because of last year?”

Um. “Remind me what happened last year?”

Incredulity again. He’s so adorably expressive. “Trent dumped her the second she showed up because she was wearing a suit?” he reminds you, which sounds vaguely familiar. “The next school day, you walked into his homeroom in the middle of class and punched him in the face in front of thirty witnesses?” Heh, oh yeah. Bro had been peeved off until you told him your reasoning, upon which he had high-fived you.

“So no one’s asking her this time because she’s dapper as fuck, and they’re not, and also all her friends and family are a bit on the violent side?” you guess, and he nods with a grimace. “Yeah, hold on.” You pull out your phone and bring up Pesterchum.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering apocalypseArisen [AA] \--  
TG: omg radia girl i heard the most incredible piece of gossip just now you will not believe  
AA: lmao what is it?  
TG: i heard that not one of the idiots at this school has mustered up the courage to ask to dance with the finest lady here  
TG: ie you  
AA: oh  
AA: um yeah  
AA: but you know thats okay i didnt want to go  
TG: well i do and karkat is a sourpuss  
TG: (see what i did there with the cat joke)  
TG: (cuz he’s a car cat)  
AA: pffft  
TG: so i am sorely missing some arm candy  
TG: and it seems that the misfortune of others may just be my luck  
TG: come on radia this may be my only opportunity to feel what its like to have every asshole in the room be intensely jealous of me  
AA: oh my god  
TG: come on do it  
TG: dooooo it  
TG: BC  
AA: oh wow an expression!! this really is serious! lmao  
TG: serious like cancer  
TG: so is that a yes  
AA: do i have to wear a dress?  
TG: what no forbidden we cant both wear dresses radia what will the fashion police say  
AA: lmao  
AA: okay fine  
AA: but i want it noted that im only doing this out of pity because you are dateless  
TG: obviously  
\-- apocalypseArisen [AA] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] \--

You might be smirking a little when you put your phone away, reporting, “Matter handled. Gonna woo the socks off our mutual girl-bro and show her the night of her life. Don’t worry your short heart.”

“Thank you,” Karkat says, rolling his eyes. “Truly you are the very incarnation of the spirit of altruism.”

You laugh a little at that. “Um, so… just to be clear… since things have not been off to the most stellar of starts so far, you, um, you do wanna date me, right? Just not this dance thing?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. And then he goes up on his toes and kisses you light and quick, which is both the most adorable thing ever and the best thing that’s ever happened to you. “Yes, dumbass, and you’d better come up with something better than bowling next time,” he growls.

You are maybe grinning a little bit. “Yeah, okay,” you say. “Okay, cool.”

“UNLAWFUL!” Terezi Pyrope, cockblocking extraordinaire, calls from down the hall. “PDA IS EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN BY THE STUDENT HANDBOOK!”

Oh good, people are looking now. “NO ONE EVEN READS THAT!” Karkat calls back. But he’s already moving toward her to help her navigate the halls. Urg. She’s already shouting back something about how ignorance is not an excuse. You still have time before class and being early is for assholes, but despite the fact that they’d helped last night, you still don’t see John and Jade anywhere, and your sister is the kind of asshole to be early to class. Hrm.

You wander a little to see if you can find your own friends before class starts. You end up in the atrium, where a few dozen kids are gathered around two tables selling baked goods to raise money for… some kind of club? You recognize Kanaya Maryam, a Speaker kid who wasn’t adopted by the Midnight Crew for whatever reason, from Rose’s class, and beeline for her. Won’t hurt to kiss the ass of another Speaker kid, just in case.

You sidle up in front of her at the table and ask, “So, what’s good?”

She looks up at you with a bored expression. “You want a recommendation?” she asks.

You shrug. “Yeah, sure, you’ve got hella selection,” you tell her. “So do a guy a favor and maybe lay some guidance on me?”

She looks at you like you’re a particularly strange and fascinating bug that has just landed in her food. “I can’t eat sugar,” she tells you.

Oh, hey, that sounds familiar. “Oh right, me either, actually,” you tell her. She raises an eyebrow, and you clarify, “Uh, recent dietary change thingy.”

She looks you over for a moment, then reaches across the table and plucks up an oversized muffin that smells _amazing_. “Protein muffin. Peanut butter and bacon are the main flavors. It uses unsweetened applesauce instead of butter and sugar. Two dollars, fifty cents.”

“Holy shit, yes,” you say, and you start digging out your wallet. A quick glance around tells you that no one’s paying attention, so, sure, let’s live dangerously. “So, uh, are you a werewolf, too?” you ask when you hand over the money.

She takes it with an eyeroll. “No, I eat people,” she says.

You laugh and take your muffin. At least she’s got a sense of humor about weird as hell questions.

“You may wish to keep that in mind,” she says before you can turn away, “should you ever consider breaking Karkat’s heart.”

Oh. Right. She’s in Rose’s class, but she’s also in Karkat’s… book club thingy? Romance. Girl stuff. Bleh. (Wait, shit, he probably wants you to be romantic at him. Shit shit shit.) “Look, I appreciate he’s got so many people who care,” you tell her, “but after you’ve had Spades Slick hold a knife to the back of your neck, no further threats are really necessary. Consider me all the way warned. I am maxed out on warning. I will tiptoe around Karkat’s delicate feelings like an elephant in a minefield.” You take a bite of muffin, and yes, best decision. Should check out bake sales every day.

She’s raised her eyebrow at you again. “Slick threatened you?” she asks, and you nod. “And yet you are unharmed?”

“Must have been my amazing charm,” you tell her. She clearly doesn’t believe you, so you amend, “I’m pretty sure Aradia threatened to tell her daddy on him.”

“Hm,” is all she says. She turns her attention to another customer, and you take that as a dismissal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for holiday-related delay. I'm back now and the next four chapters will be posted pretty quickly. You'll then have to wait for the next fic to be finished :P

Beatrice Crocker’s School for Wayward Girls was not actually in Beacon Hills. It was at the far eastern end of Beacon County, nestled right up against the roots of the foothills. It’s a small, two-story Victorian-style house with two, more plain wings added on to either side and a wide estate garden that faded elegantly into the nearby forest. Around the whole estate was a ten foot wrought iron fence with a heavy gate across the only road in.

“Creepy,” Bro mumbled under his breath.

“Behave yourself,” Stilinski warned just as quietly, and he gave a meaningful glance in the direction of the Mayor who was trying to sit still and dignified while also trying to get a look at the place. Stilinski evaluated the gate in front of them. “There’s no call button. How are we supposed to get in?”

Bro leaned around in his seat and asked, “Sir, you did actually make an appointment, didn’t you?”

“Hm? Oh, yes.” The Mayor consulted his wristwatch. “But we are a bit late. Perhaps－ Ah, there!”

Bro turned around again to see a young woman making her way down the long drive at a leisurely pace. He immediately recognized Meenah Peixes. He’d been studying her since the death of her elder sister, convinced that she would be the next victim. Working here must be why she hadn’t been seen in Fairvale since graduation, aside from the few days immediately following Maya's death. She was taller and slimmer than either Maya or Feferi, but still had their mother’s hips. She kept her hair in two long braids that trailed nearly to the ground. She still dressed in a well-worn t-shirt and jeans, just like she had in high school, when he’d interviewed her about a previous Peixes death, but now she glinted with multiple piercings and large bangle bracelets. Her eyebrow was pierced, and her ears were more metal than flesh. Incongruously with the rest of her punk-as-hell image, she had a large, pink, plastic seashell purse hanging at her side.

She shoved a large key into the lock on her side of the gate, twisted, then pulled open the gate in front of their car like it was made of feathers. She motioned for them to come through, looking as bored and put out by the whole endeavor as she possibly could.

Stilinski drove slowly past her, and Bro watched as she tugged the gate closed again and locked it. Well, that was foreboding. Bro turned around as Stilinski continued up the drive, past the meticulous formal garden, which, now that he was closer, Bro could see was actually a fruit and vegetable garden and was tended by young girls in school uniform. Holy shit, the amount of effort that must go into that. Huh, the black and slate uniforms had fuchsia accents.

Stilinski pulled around to the front door and parked. Immediately, the large oaken doors opened and out stepped Astrophel fucking Captor. He stood tall with a formal and contained body language, hair neatly trimmed and styled out of his face, wearing a plain but impeccable grey suit (with a fuchsia pocket square and single tiny gold stud in each ear). Nonetheless, he looked like he was about to keel over any second. He was too thin, bordering on emaciated (though the suit hid it well), his skin was dry and brittle-looking, and his eyes had dark circles so deep it looked as though he’d been punched in the face twice. Despite this, he gave no indication of noticing his own obvious illness.

The three men stepped out of the car, and Stilinski nodded to Captor. “Uh, so where should I park this?” he asked.

Captor smiled, somehow without conveying an ounce of emotion in any direction. “Ms. Peixes can handle that for you,” he said.

“Yo.” Stilinski jumped when Meenah appeared behind them. Stilinski had driven slowly, but not _that_ slowly. With a bored and vaguely annoyed expression, she held out her hand to him. When he continued staring at her, she sighed heavily and made a grasping motion. “Come on, loser, I don’t have all day. Keys. In hand. Let’s go. I’m the dam valet now, apparently.”

Captor made a choked sound and grimaced. “Language, Meenah,” he hissed.

“Yeah, whatever,” she said. Stilinski, to Bro’s chagrin, handed over the keys, and she went to park his car. Great, now they were double-trapped.

Captor, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. “I apologize, sirs. Ms. Peixes did not attend our establishment and works here now as a family favor. We’re still working on her etiquette.” He stepped aside and nodded to the dark hall behind him. “Shall we begin the tour?”

* * *

You’re kind of surprised when there’s no one yet sitting at your table at lunch. You hadn’t been sure whether Jade would show up today (being a senior student, you wouldn’t see her until now anyway), but John and Rose should be around somewhere. You set down your tray and take a seat and pull up Pesterchum on your phone.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] \--  
TG: yo you at school  
GG: hi dave!!  
GG: no im at home :( your bro let me help last night because he needed all hands on deck but he says he wants me behind our ash fence as much as possible  
TG: will that stop condolence  
GG: she cant get past it no  
GG: shes tried to call me out to her i guess to make it look like i was changing locations of my own free will  
GG: but i couldnt leave the fence and mr egbert wouldnt open it  
GG: hes a good man and she cant command him  
TG: damn but that sounds scary  
GG: ugh you have no idea  
TG: wanna bet  
GG: … oh right  
GG: sorry im not used to… well having people to talk to  
GG: but im glad jake told bro some things  
GG: im with him i dont think theres a way to solve this other than to wait it out  
GG: but its nice to actually tell my friends about my life  
TG: we will solve it jade i promise  
TG: you and me well find new alphas kick peixes and ampora to the curb  
GG: speaking of eridan did anything happen after he was arrested?  
GG: i was kind of surprised that he didnt try anything!  
TG: not yet but its only been one night and we had AR watching him overnight  
TG: no better place to keep someone safe than a police station  
GG: i hope youre right  
TG: hey let me ask you a thing  
TG: makara and the bear whats up with that  
GG: oh theyre berserkers  
TG: berserkers  
GG: its like a cult thing  
GG: theres whole rituals to transform them into violent unbeatable beasts  
GG: theres always someone to command them because otherwise theyll never come back from it  
GG: if youre good at it theres also a ritual to untransform you but its very difficult and very precise and a lot of lives have been ruined by half-assing it  
TG: so they work for peixes too  
GG: no!  
GG: i have no idea why gamzee has decided to involve himself but condolence is more than capable of taking care of her own problems  
GG: she uses methods of covering it up so that those werewolf hunters that actually stick to the rules will have no methods of proving shes bad  
TG: methods like saltwater drowning  
GG: um  
GG: idk?  
TG: … right

Jade may be glad to have someone to talk to, but she still clearly thinks the best thing to do is cover for her shitty abusive alpha, and you have no idea how to dissuade her from that idea. The worst part is, you’re not even sure if she’s wrong.

You’re about to press for more berserker info when a body drops into the seat across the table from you. “Hey man,” you greet, putting the phone away. And then you look up.

Terezi cocks her head at you with a small smile of amusement. “Hey yourself, boy,” she teases.

You groan. “Why are you sitting with me?” you demand.

She shrugs and says, “You just looked lonesome with your friends abandoning you.”

“Okay, first of all, I know for a fact that I did not _look_ anything to you,” you point out, and she cackles, delighted that you caught her. “Secondly, my friends are just late.”

“Mm, no they aren’t,” says Terezi, and she nods off toward your five o’clock. “I heard from Kanaya that Rose asked John to introduce her to Vriska.”

“ _What?_ ” You turn to look and there, at a far table against the wall, is indeed John, Vriska, Kanaya, and Rose, acting chummy as chums can be. Vriska darts a glance your way and looks absolutely fucking maliciously pleased with herself before returning her attention to the conversation. “Am I being _Mean Girls_ ’d?” you demand of no one in particular, though you supposed Terezi might as well count. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

“Smells like flirting to me,” Terezi supplies with a smirk.

“Oh, like hell it does.” You turn your attention to your phone again and fire off a quick message to Rose.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--  
TG: rose what the hell you traitor

You look over to their table so you’ll know the second she replies. Instead, she pulls out her phone, glances at it, and then shoves it back in her purse without even a “talk later.” Wow, ouch. Okay, that’s typical of your sister, who got the same “makes labyrinths of elaborate manipulations for plans that could easily be conducted in a single step” gene that Dirk did from Bro, but you know John. John hasn’t got a Mean Girl bone in his body. That’s why he’s your best buddy.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
TG: dude wrong table

John glances your way guiltily after he checks his phone. He gives a wary glance to Vriska then types as quickly as he can.

EB: sorry, dude! rose just really wanted to meet her!  
TG: wait i took it for bullshit when terezi said they were flirting is that actually whats happening  
TG: how could you let that happen man you know strilondes make terrible relationship decisions  
EB: idk how do lesbians flirt? also you’re with karkat.  
TG: who is related to the mob so i stand by my point  
TG: has there been talk of flannel or tegan and sara  
EB: who  
EB: crap i’ve been caught ttyl!!  
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

You let your head thump against the table. “Oh my god, she is. She’s flirting. Why? Why is this happening to me?”

“Awe, there there, Strider! I’d be more than happy to take you to the animal shelter so you can finally find your forever home,” Terezi offers. She’s texting like a fiend again. “Or be euthanized after two weeks. Whichever!”

You glower up at her. “Quick, change of subject: The fuck is a berserker? I mean, I know what berserk is, but like, as a noun. As an actual thing. What is that?”

She cocks an eyebrow at you. “Where’d you hear that?” she asks.

“Ran into Gamzee and some dude who was wearing a bear inside out,” you tell her. “Jade said they’re berserkers, but her explanation was a little vague.”

Terezi nods. “The Makaras were berserkers, but they can’t do anything without their Grand Highblood, who hasn’t been seen in some time, and the family had dwindled to almost nothing even before that. If they’re still doing transformations, they really risk getting their face stuck like that.” She hums to herself. “I’ll run it by Red, see what she thinks. But we should probably be quiet about it now.”

“Why?” you ask suspiciously, but you’re answered almost immediately when Karkat pushes through the crowd with a loud, “Pyrope, what the fuck are you doing all the way out－ Oh. Hi, Dave.”

Terezi smirks at you. “Uh, hi,” you greet him, but his attention has already been diverted because assholes aren’t scooting their chairs up for Tavros to pass by, so instead, you say to Terezi, “Your abilities are uncanny. Also, does this mean you finally approve or you just like tormenting me?”

Her smile widens, all alligator mockery again. “Now what, exactly, has given you the idea that those two qualities are mutually exclusive?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I was having connection troubles :/

“I am _so_ grateful to the Condesce and the opportunities she has provided me that absolutely no one else ever would have!” said the girl, making Bro’s fingers twitch.

Not trusting his voice, he motioned that she could move on, and (with a glance to Captor for confirmation) she did so. Captor gave Bro an exasperated look and asked, “Do you really have to interview _every_ student we come across?”

“So far, they’re all singing your praises,” said Bro. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because as much as I may enjoy the Mayor’s company, I would like to wrap this tour up in a single day, if you don’t mind,” said Captor.

The Mayor, luckily, laughed at that, seemingly sensing none of the tension between the two men. Stilinski sensed it, but his expression said he was completely perplexed by their behavior. He still hadn’t realized that the school was already on to them, and of course, he didn’t have Bro’s experience to be seeing the signs that Bro did. “What about your alumni?” asked the Mayor. “How do the girls do once they’re women?”

Captor nodded and told him, “Our alumni are very successful, and many have made donations to our institution since its beginnings twelve years ago. If you’ll follow me to my office, I would be happy to show you some of our most shining examples.” Without really waiting for an answer, Captor turned and started up the nearest set of stairs.

Bro fell a little way behind the others, preferring to take in the details of the school instead of listening to Captor’s drivel. On a landing halfway to the next floor, they passed by a large window, and Bro paused to look out over the back half of the campus. Outside was a group of girls being lead by a teacher who didn’t look any older than him at that distance, seemingly engaging in physical education. The girls were being directed to spin several times, then run back and forth between two poles, then tag in another player. He vaguely remembered engaging in similar activities in elementary school (but these girls were all high school age). In his memory, though, after tagging in a new player, you went to the back of the line and had a good rest before it was your turn again. Here, the girls were paired off, repeatedly tagging in the same players, so rest was never longer than a few seconds. They were dizzy, falling down and laughing. They seemed to be having fun. Every time one fell down, her partner was cued to start again. The instructor would then instruct the fallen girl to stand, recite something, and then the whole process began again.

Bro realized he’d lost the group and followed their voices to Captor’s office. The Mayor seemed to be discussing something about the age and success of the alumni, to which Captor reminded him that the school was only twelve years old, to which the Mayor pointed out that then there should be at least one thirty-year-old in the group. Bro shoved his hands into his pockets and turned in the open door. There, Captor and the Mayor stood on opposite sides of Captor’s desk, both politely discussing the various alumni profiles being displayed on Captor’s computer screen (which had been turned sideways for the guests to see). Stilinski was leaning against a bookshelf in the far corner, looking extremely bored. On top of that bookshelf, just above Stilinski’s shoulder, was Li’l Cal.

Bro didn’t realize that he’d stopped breathing until Captor looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and asked, “Mr. Strider? Is something bothering you?” There’s a quirk to his lips that clearly communicates that Captor knows exactly what’s bothering him. This was done on purpose. He was making his message clear.

Bro cleared his throat and asked, “Restroom?”

Captor hesitated, then nodded. “You can use the faculty restroom at the end of the hall. Obviously, all other facilities are dedicated to teenage girls and are thus not available for the use of guests.” He’d already returned his attention to his computer, scrolling through several profiles before finding another he wanted to talk to the Mayor about.

Bro left the office and went to the end of the hall. There, indeed, was a small restroom with two stalls, a sink, and a mirror. With shaking hands, he turned on the faucet and splashed some cool water on his face, trying to will control back into his breathing. Once he finally felt calm again, he turned off the faucet and looked up to find Meenah Peixes standing behind him. He was really proud of the way he didn’t jump out of his skin.

When he turned to face her, she smirked at him, leaning against the door behind him. “Do you remember what you told me, after Maya died? When you went to interview me and Feferi?” she asked. “Come on, it was only a couple of weeks ago.”

Bro wondered what she was getting at, but he answered dutifully, “I said I would protect you. That I wouldn’t let this happen to you also.”

She laughed at him, cold and sharp. “I wonder, Mr. Strider. Did you tell her that, too? When Nehìr died, did you tell her that she wouldn’t be next? That you could and would protect her?”

Bro scowled and didn’t answer.

“Is it what you told Nehìr when Denìz died?” she mocked him. “Don’t you worry child; the prince is here.”

The old nickname sunk into his belly like a knife, and Bro looked away.

Suddenly, she was right next to him, and she whispered, “Don’t you realize that it’s you that’s killing us?” And when he turned, she was gone, leaving laughter in her wake like the already dead.

His breathing was a mess again. His hands were trembling. Cold fear seized up in his chest, froze everything it touched, and he tried to remember why he needed it, how he’d been taught to use it to his benefit, but then… A sense of comfortable nostalgia washed over him as the fear ebbed away again like it was being siphoned off, leaving in its wake a comforting void and a laughter he couldn’t control.

* * *

You spend the next couple classes text-angsting at Jade (who is laughing at you, the jerk), being fake-mad at John and constantly elbowing and slap-fighting him whenever an adult isn’t looking just to cover up that you are a little bit real-hurt, and then, in the last class of the day, find yourself epically distracted by the fuzzy head in front of you. At first you’re baffled as to why Karkat switched from the very back of class to in front of you at almost-exactly-middle, irritating what’s-her-face who had sat there every day of the semester so far.

Then your History teacher finishes up her droning spiel by telling you all to pair up with a project partner, and Karkat glances back at you with a raised eyebrow of question and a small, hopeful smile.

Oh.

You smirk back at him, wiggle your eyebrows, and say in your most ridiculous ‘come get it’ voice, “I have the worst grade in class, you know.”

Karkat’s smile drops.

* * *

When Bro returned to Captor’s office, it seemed everyone was very done with their questions and were now talking about, of all things, the weather. Li’l Cal was also missing from the room. Stilinski seemed bored and unfazed as he gave Bro a look that clearly said, ‘Thank god you’re back! Can we please go now?’

“You certainly took your time,” Captor said, idly closing a few windows on his desktop before standing.

“Yeah, it happens,” Bro grumbled. “You really wanna know the lurid details of my bowel movements, Mr. Captor?”

“No, that’s fine,” he replied coolly. He stepped around the desk and gestured to the doorway that Bro was still standing in the middle of. “Well, I do believe that completes our tour for today, gentlemen. Unless you have any other questions, I shall ask Ms. Peixes to retrieve your car to the front entrance.”

“Yeah, actually, I’m going to be honest with you; I did some background research before agreeing to this,” said Stilinski. “Your name brought some interesting connections.”

“The Speakers?” asked Captor.

“You’re not surprised to be asked?” asked Bro. He shifted his weight to lean against the door frame, giving the clear signal that no one was leaving immediately.

But Captor only shrugged. “It always comes up eventually. Unfortunately, everyone’s always disappointed to learn that I have no gorey details to bestow,” he said. “The simple truth is that my time with them was nothing but a folly of youth, and I had moved on long before the murders. I was hurt deeply to know what had become of my former friends, but I had no idea who could’ve done it. I still hope that the fiend is caught. But I’ve moved on with my life, working hard to actually become a productive member of society.”

“And your sons?” asked Bro.

Captor faltered. For just a split second, Bro could swear he saw something dark and inky moving _under_ Captor’s corpse-thin skin. But then the polite smile was right back in place. “I wish I could do more for them,” he said. “But they were never actually mine, which is why they were living with their birth mother at the time of the murders. I would have come to reclaim them, of course, had someone else not already done so. They seem quite happy with their current family, and I see no reason why I should interfere with that over a sense of proprietorship.”

The Mayor nodded his agreement. “That’s a very mature view,” he said.

Captor’s tension eased a little at that. “Well, I’m sure we’re making Ms. Peixes impatient,” he said, taking a step toward the doorway again. After a brief moment of hesitation, Bro backed out into the hall so that Captor could lead them down the front entrance. Bro noted that he’d never actually _called_ Ms. Peixes.

“I really do dislike that man,” the Mayor grumbled under his breath, surprising both sheriffs.

Ms. Peixes was indeed waiting by the car in the driveway, exactly where Stilinski had originally parked it. She tossed his keys back to him and told him he was slow.

About a mile down the road, after the school was finally out of sight, Bro demanded Stilinski pull over at the side of the road so that he could thoroughly inspect the car for alterations, right down to looking under the floor mats, groping under the seats, and even climbing under the chassis with a flashlight. “Strider, what the _hell_?” Stilinski demanded.

“You know,” said the Mayor, leaning his chin on his hand as he sat in the rear passenger seat with his legs pulled up onto the seat to keep out of Bro’s way, “you could have just said this was part of a criminal investigation.”

“It’s definitely not,” Bro lied. “That’s a whole different pile of paperwork, which we would also have to send to their lawyers.”

The Mayor made a thoughtful noise.

“Sorry,” said Stilinski, “but what in the hell did you two see at that school that has got you so antsy?”

“I’m not actually feeling all that antsy,” Bro admitted. “I just remember that hyper-preparedness doesn’t hurt, and I’ll regret it later if I don’t do this inspection now. Also that wasn’t a school; it was a cult.”

The Mayor made another thoughtful noise and said, “Well, I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

“Trust me, I know from cult.” Bro stood and brushed off his uniform pants, which really only served to smear the dirt more. “Looks like they didn’t do anything, though I’m pretty sure Peixes had her own look around because the undercarriage has been cleaned in some places so she could see better.”

Stilinski rolled his eyes. “Great, so everyone is paranoid,” he said. “How exactly is it that you ‘know from cult’?”

Bro bristled a bit, then turned to him. “‘I am so lucky that she has condescended to provide me with a place and purpose in the world,’” he quoted. “‘I would be nothing without her imperious condescension.’ ‘I would be dead without her imperious condescension.’ ‘I am so grateful to the Condesce and the opportunities she has provided me that absolutely no one else ever would have.’”

Stilinski sighed. “I admit, it’s weird and morbid, but these are troubled girls, and teenagers do believe things like that sometimes.”

“Mr. Strider interviewed seventeen girls,” the Mayor pointed out. “Between them, only those four statements were said. Word-for-word. Exactly.”

Stilinski blinked in surprise and thought back. He hadn’t realized, but they were right. The repeated statements had been said exactly the same, right down to the inflection.

“It’s not their opinion. It’s doctrine,” said Bro. “And look at the way classes are divided. Only a few newbies let in each year, and not one of them is in the same class as another. No matter what their age, they’re grouped solely with girls that have been in that school two or three years. Activities like hours of meditation and thought-stopping exercises like gardening, dance, and exhausting repetitive fitness routines are given priority over actual study, for the sake of their ‘personal development.’ They’re fed _no_ fat and very little protein, supposedly for their health, but some of those girls were showing malnutrition. Many were also showing sleep-deprivation. It’s subtle, but stack it all together…”

The Mayor nodded in agreement. “And not one of those alumni was over twenty-five. All of them gave only a singular, large-sum donation in an odd amount. We’ll have to look up the records to be sure, but I’d bet my last penny those were end of life donations. Not one of those profiles noted a company they had gone on to work for _aside_ from the few who took internships with Betty Crocker. And none of the girls we spoke to had parents in their lives. They all said their families had given up on them. While not rare in this situation, it shouldn’t have happened to seventeen out of seventeen of the girls spoken to.”

Stilinski raked a hand back through his hair as he took all this in. “But… why? What’s their motivation here?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Bro admitted, leaning his ass against the car with a heavy sigh.

“Nor do I,” said the Mayor. “But it does concern me that Captor has already survived the mass-execution of one fringe group. Whatever is happening with these girls, they are very clearly in danger.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, um, sorry I didn't update when I said I was gonna. A lot of things happened and... suddenly we're buying a house, and I have to figure out what to do with 10 acres of farmland? I don't know, man. Here's some fic.

After locking the front gate again, Meenah walked up the long drive back to the school. The Helmsman stood there, waiting for her with his hands in his pockets, his expression a bit unreadable as he sorted out the new details he’d gathered from this little visit.

“So?” she asked.

“So fucking what?” he answered.

She rolled her eyes. “Can he bring her down?”

The Helmsman shrugged, looking out the way Sheriff Stilinski’s car had gone. “We’re certainly pushing his buttons hard enough, but you never know with heroes. Sometimes they just die.”

“Hm,” said Meenah. She thought about this for all of three seconds, then shrugged and went inside. “Whatever, we’ve got plenty of fodder to feed the beast if he fails.”

The Helmsman turned and followed her inside. The heavy oak door closed slowly and quietly behind them.

* * *

Rose sighs heavily when she finally comes to a stop light. “Yes, Dave?” she asks with an implied eyeroll.

“VRISKA?!” you demand angrily.

She actually does roll her eyes this time. “Dave, think about it. She likes John, and John is the slightly affected great-grandson of a werewolf. If he’s fine, by her standards, then so should be I, the completely unaffected sister of a recently bitten werewolf,” she explains. “We both know that we can’t trust _John_ to successfully interrogate her, so I asked for him to introduce me to her. She knows that we usually sit with you, so appearing to betray you with this minor display of social alliance was an easy way to please her. I decided not to tell you beforehand because I wanted your surprise to be genuine, but I must admit, I didn’t think you’d take this so personally. After all, you quickly filled the table with other companions.” The light has already changed, and she’s driving again before she’s finished her speech.

“Terezi said you were flirting,” you grumble. Okay, so maybe you took the table thing too seriously, but the flirting thing is absolutely inexcusable.

Rose only shrugs. “Well, if I can earn a bonus for my endeavor, why should I?” she says. There’s a smirk in her voice. The girl is fucking _cocky_ about this. You kind of want to punch her.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because the object of your affection has _tried to murder your own brother_?!”

“Has wh－?” When she realizes what you mean, she presses her knuckles to her dark lips to stifle a laugh.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY!” you insist. “Actual murder, Rose! I could be dead!”

“You’re talking about when Vriska’s cousin tried to poison your shoes at the bowling alley?”

“Vriska’s cousin still counts as Vriska when she pretty clearly put him up to it!” you object. “And what about her egging me on after the party? And throwing a dead fucking wolf at Roxy’s car? You just gonna toss that out the window because maybe she’s kinda pretty if you squint?”

“You think Vriska’s pretty?” Rose teases.

“I’m disowning you,” you sulk, and Rose fucking _laughs_ at you.

“I’m only teasing you, Dave,” she tells you gently. “I wasn’t flirting with Vriska.”

You huff angrily, still disbelieving. “I saw you, man, you were all, like, head tossing and leaning in and laughing too much and shit.”

“At…?” she prompts.

“Vriska!”

“BZZT! Wrong guess!” she says, slicing her hand through the air. “Try again.”

You blink at her, surprised. “You like John?”

This time she laughs so hard you’re a little concerned for her ability to drive, and you make sure to sit up straight in case the seatbelt comes to use. “Dave, exactly what about John Egbert strikes you as appealing to a self-professed _lesbian_?” she demands, still laughing hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“I dunno. He’s a nice dude,” you tell her. “But there wasn’t anyone else there except…” Except the other person that had been there. “Wait, Maryam?”

“I can’t believe you guessed _John_ first!” She is still laughing at you. You think she might laugh all the way back to the apartment. Maybe all the way back to her own house.

You consider Kanaya Maryam. Tall, elegant, a little bit of an ice queen thing going on except for her shy blushy thing around Vriska, it’s no wonder she’s got Rose’s interest. You also consider the Strilonde “bad romantic decisions” curse. There’s whoever the hell Dirk’s completely uninvested mother is. There’s Mom, who somehow managed to make babies with her gay best friend twice. There’s the whole Rufioh clusterfuck with Roxy and Dirk. There’s Dirk’s painfully idiotic and doomed crush on Jake Harley. And then there’s you, who hopefully dodged around picking the wrong person by picking the right person from the wrong family. And Kanaya? “Everyone knows Kanaya has a crush on Vriska,” you point out.

“Mm, but not only does Vriska not reciprocate those feelings, she’s actually completely oblivious to them, firmly believing Kanaya is her perfect Terezi-replacement bestie,” says Rose. She pulls into your apartment complex. Your eyes dart to the top floor when you catch movement there, and you lean forward to get a better look. Huh, Bro’s home already. “Which means that Kanaya is available to be shown more alluring choices.” She pulls in next to Bro’s pick up.

“Alright, fine, good luck with that,” you tell her as you climb out. “Also never refer to yourself as ‘alluring’ at me again.” Before you get the door closed, you catch it. Bro’s scent. But it’s… off. You try to read the chemosignals, but you can’t put your finger on what’s unbalanced. “Uh, Rose, would you mind coming up with me?”

She is immediately out of the car and where the hell did she get those knives from? She doesn’t take them to school, does she? Girl lives dangerously. Oh, they were probably in the car. Still a suspension-worthy offense. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

You close your door and shrug, nodding to Bro’s truck. “I have no idea, but he smells weird and is home early.”

She relaxes by a small increment. “Alright, just in case.”

You nod and lead the way up the stairs that wind their way around the entire tower. There's probably an elevator somewhere, but Bro didn't raise you to do shit the easy way. At the top floor, you try the door and find that it hasn’t yet been locked. “Bro?” you call. If he’s wound up or something, you don’t want to surprise him. Walking in, you find that he has pulled down the ladder to the crawlspace. Huh.

Dirk sticks his head out of his room. He takes in you and Rose and cocks an eyebrow. You shrug. You approach the ladder and call out, “Yo, Broseph Bronathan Brider. What is up?”

He continues to ignore you, but you can hear him rummaging around. Dirk is under the ladder now, peering up curiously. “Bro, why’re ya being weird?” asks Dirk.

“Shit, man, have I gotta get up and hold y'all's hands every moment of the day? Sometimes a dude just wants to dig around in his－ Oh, there we go.” A moment later, Bro’s legs appear over the edge of the crawlspace hatch, and Dirk steps back out of the way so Bro can drop the rest of the way down. He’s got an arm full of box. The box is marked “photos.” Huh. You’d thought there was nothing up there but the memory for the apartment cameras and Dirk’s surplus stock, which you will never ever speak of or think about.

He steps past you and drops the box onto the kitchen table, takes the lid off and starts pulling out envelopes that had apparently just been tossed in haphazardly. He only glances through each one for a second or two before tossing it aside on the table. You, Dirk, and Rose exchange confused glances. Dirk steps up next to him and waves a hand in front of Bro’s face, which does get the intended reaction of getting Bro to snap at him and push him back. (Never get in Bro’s space outside of a strife. Dirk is the only one of you willing to risk losing a hand for the opportunity to annoy the piss out of Bro.) “What?” Bro demands, exasperated.

“Dude, you’re acting fucking weird,” Dirk tells him.

Bro’s fingers are pulling at the edge of the box, overeager to go back to rifling through old photos. “Uh, right,” he says. He looks like he’s having a hard time remembering what he’s supposed to do when someone expresses concern at him. Is he fucking high? What the hell? “I, um… Do you remember what happened to that old doll of yours? The ventriloquist puppet.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Rose mumbles under her breath.

Dirk just slow-blinks at Bro. “Li’l Cal?” he asks. “Mom threw him out years ago. Said he gave her the creeps. Why?”

“He was at the Girls’ School,” Bro says. He makes a sort of strained noise and then turns back to the box of photos, apparently no longer able to resist his need to go through it. “I think he was. He wasn’t when I went back in the room. Stilinski and the Mayor never saw it.”

“What? Our mayor?” you demand. “Dude, how could you not tell me－?”

“Check your Instagram,” Bro tells you. He drops another envelope into the pile. You pull out your phone to do so while Dirk throws up his hands in exasperation. The Mayor has, in fact, posted a photo from Bro’s account, making a silly face and tagging you. Day = made.

Dirk drops himself heavily into a chair by Bro. “Okay, so someone else owned the same creepy merchandise. That’s kind of how the toy market works, Bro.”

“Cal’s the only motherfucking Cal,” says Bro. He tosses aside another envelope. “I mean, he wasn’t, probably, but… I just wanna… Ha!” Bro pulls out a photo and lets the envelope drop to the pile, not noticing the way it catches Dirk’s eye. Bro turns to you and holds out the photo. “Dave, scan this and－ Oh, hi, Rose. Nevermind, Dave. Rose, take this to Roxy. Please.”

Rose takes the photo but doesn’t take her eyes off Bro’s face. “Father, I mean this in only the most concerned of manners, but are you presently intoxicated?”

Bro laughs at her. Loudly. You have _never_ heard him laugh like that. “Nah, man,” he tells her. “It’ll wear off in a day or two. I was only exposed for a short time.”

“What will wear off?” you demand. “What were you exposed to? What the hell is going on?”

“Bro.” The way Dirk speaks is way too calm. Way too measured. He’s looking through the last envelope that Bro had dropped. “You said you didn’t have photos of my mother.”

“Oh, that’s because I didn’t want you to go looking for her on account of her being a motherfucking psychopath.”

All three of you stare at him in utter fucking disbelief.

Bro finally realizes why you’re staring. He huffs in irritation. “That was something I’d never have said if I was afraid of the consequences, wasn’t it?” he says.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON?!” you demand.

He rolls his eyes at you. He’s wearing his shades, but you know he’s rolling his goddamn eyes and now is definitely the wrong time to be pulling that shit. “I’m not _on_ anything,” he says. “Cal eats fear. Well, half of him does. The other half eats hope. Except that was all psychosymptomatic or whatever the hell. They said it was so, and I felt it like it was. Except apparently, werewolves and psychics and what the fuck else ever are all things, so maybe everything the exit therapist told me was bullshit.”

“The what?” asks Dirk, but Rose goes on point like she’s found psychoanalytical gold.

You’ve got a scent of your own now caught. “Wait, actually, that explains why you smell weird,” you say. Dirk and Bro give you baffled looks, and you explain, “I was concerned because Bro’s emotions smelled off, but I couldn’t pinpoint the spike of a chemosignal. But, yeah, no, now I understand the scent: there’s no fear in it.”

“You normally smell like fear?” Dirk asks Bro, surprised.

Bro laughs at him. “I’m a dad! Of course, I’m scared all the motherfucking time. Well, except right now. Obviously.”

Rose looks down at the photograph in her hand. “You had an exit therapist,” she says. “Can I take that to mean you were involved in a cult?”

Bro shrugs and explains, “That’s what everybody else said. It never really seemed that formal, to be honest. It was basically just my third foster family. Same effect, though.”

“And it revolved around this doll?” she asks.

Again, he shrugs. “Meh, sorta. Berserkers need a leader. Fear-eating demon’s just kinda built for it, y’know?”

Dirk’s head hits the table, and he makes a despairing sound. Bro puts a hand on top of Dirk’s head without even a thought. “I fucking hate you,” Dirk grumbles, but he doesn’t remove the hand on his head.

Rose elbows you in the side and tilts the photo toward you. “Anything jump out at you, here?” she asks. “Something that might indicate that Bro’s therapist was doling advice without all the necessary information?”

You look. The photo shows a little black baby that you guess must be Dirk. Wrapped around it like it’s holding him is a fucking ridiculous ventriloquist dummy. It has orange limbs, a big potato-shaped head with clown makeup, and is wearing rapper paraphernalia. And then you realize that baby Dirk is leaning to the side. The thing isn’t being supported by Dirk. It can’t be, because Dirk’s weight is distributed so that he can’t even be supporting himself.

The puppet is holding Dirk. It’s looking down at him and smiling at him, and it’s fucking holding him. Holy fucking shit.


	5. Chapter 5

Dirk is having an existential crisis. You can’t really say you blame him, given the info dump you all just got over the past hour. All the same, it’s really weird for him to be in the same room with Roxy, a police-commissioned research project (tracing the activity of Li’l Cal via publicly available photos), and a bank of new computers without him interfering. Okay, it’s not actually that many computers, compared to her previous system, but she confesses most of those were just storage and extra processing that she was too lazy to pare down into a smaller machine. Dirk, meanwhile, is just laying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Has been for approximately twenty-seven minutes, not that you’ve been counting.

For one, you learned that Dirk’s mother, Hedy, was a total bitch, and that’s putting it nicely. When asking for details, you’d always been told Bro was 16 when Dirk was born, and thus assumed that he was also 16 when Dirk was conceived. The truth there is one of many, many things you wish you hadn't heard today. You’d also been given the impression that Bro hadn’t figured out his sexuality yet on account of banging a lady. Also not the case. You’d _also_ been given the impression that Dirk’s mother had been a classmate of Bro’s. Nope! She was the eighteen-year-old (19 by Dirk’s birth, _ew_ ) former foster daughter that still lived with the family. Even under the apparent truth serum-like effects of having his fear sucked out by an evil doll, Bro was pretty insistent that he’d consented while also not having really been into it. Mom made a face at that, but didn’t try to argue. All those details on their own would be enough to give most people an existential crisis and at least start a huge dramatic fight between these two assholes. BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!

Apparently, Hedy had a habit of _beating people to death_. In fact, that was the general modus operandi of the whole clan. (While Bro hadn’t killed anyone, he had been training as an initiate at the time, and did have a battery charge on his record and, apparently, several batteries off the record.) But when Dirk was two, Hedy lost control on some poor mall cop, which then escalated into a fight with multiple cops and got really fucking bloody (Bro didn’t have the details on that, but Mom’s expression again told you that she had looked into it and it was not something you should keep pressing about if you ever wanted to sleep again) until they finally shot her down. (A Google search by Rose said Hedy had died in prison a few years later under similar circumstances.) This had lead to an investigation into that family, and CPS had promptly removed Dirk from their custody while Bro sat in a jail cell waiting to be cleared of charges.

It was then that Bro felt fear for the first time in almost three years. For Dirk. That he might never see him again. He pulled himself together and called the only smart person he knew － Lilianne Lalonde, a daughter of his second foster family. Mom immediately got Bro emancipation (He was close enough to 18 by then that the judge luckily considered it a money-saving endeavor.), got Dirk back, and took them both to her Californian apartment, where she’d been starting her first year in college. Li’l Cal had “miraculously” (and you would like to never ever hear that word again from Bro’s lips) turned up in the apartment days later. Bro doesn’t remember how that happened. Mom says that back then, Bro had claimed that Li’l Cal had always been there and that he was always everywhere. (Like you needed another layer of creepy to this bullshit.)

That third foster family that Hedy and Bro had been in had, indeed, been berserkers, but since Bro’s therapist wasn’t well-versed in supernatural practices, they had believed all of that to simply be smoke and mirrors on top of a violent and manipulative family/cult. According to Mom and Bro, the family was not Makara and was based in Houston. More Googling by Rose said they were still there and still notorious, though they were now more "prison gang" than "family cult." Mom swears up and down that she never would’ve settled in Fairvale if she’d known there were berserkers locally. Bro simply shrugs and says, “Yeah, I’d probably normally say the same, I guess.”

Speaking of which, you have now learned that “fearless” is not actually interchangeable with “bravery.” Instead, it’s something closer to “fucking stupid.” Without fear, apparently, one also loses doubt, the ability to debate choices instead of choosing by whim, the desire to conform to basic social standards, and any ability to give a shit about repercussions. While it doesn’t necessarily negate the fluffier emotions, fearlessness is a breeding ground for nasty shit like destruction and malice. Bro, for example, presently has a concept of how he’d normally act and why he’d normally act that way, but it’s no longer his first inclination, and he has to keep being reminded to stop and think about what he’d do if he wasn’t fear-sucked.

Pretty much immediately after the initial revelation, Rose had called Mom asking how to handle Bro. Mom had basically flipped her shit and driven over immediately. That lead to a short and extremely disturbing family history meeting. Mom then decided that she should stay with Bro to keep his stupidity to a minimum while he recovers, and you and Dirk should go home with Rose. Dirk’s been catatonic ever since.

It’s only when your phone buzzes with a pesterchum alert do you remember that you had plans for today.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] \--  
CG: DID YOU REALLY ALREADY FORGET ABOUT THE PROJECT?  
TG: fuck fuck shit  
TG: gimme a sec to abscond then ill vidchat

You check on Dirk (by which you mean “watch for a few seconds to make sure he’s breathing and blinking occasionally”), then creep out of the room. You hurry up a couple flights 'til you're out on the massive rooftop patio.

You bring up the vid extension and position yourself so your face is actually lit. He’s sitting at a table with his homework spread around and you can hear Kankri and Kanaya snipping about something in the background (because he’s not actually stupid enough to invite you to his actual home after Slick threatened you the last time you trespassed). Karkat has his chin on his hand like he’s bored but there’s an edge of worry to his scowl. “Uh, hey, man,” you say nervously. “I’m really sorry I can’t make it, but shit hit the fan when I got home. Family drama all over the walls and ceiling. Children crying. Gonna have to have the carpets replaced.”

Karkat raises an eyebrow. “Family drama?” he repeats.

“No one’s hurt!” you tell him quickly, because he knows you well enough to know how your family usually starts drama. “It’s just that… uh…” Quick, think of a non-supernatural version of the story! “Bro accidentally blabbed about Dirk’s mom after _years_ of refusing to tell him, and the story was nasty, and Dirk is having a meltdown, and we all got sent to Mom’s house.”

Karkat’s lips pinch together briefly. “I don’t know whether to express my sympathy or grab some popcorn,” he admits.

You snort at that. “Well, I’m not really the one who’s affected here, canceled study date aside,” you tell him. “But the popcorn’s gonna be pretty useless because that’s the end of the story.”

“You are terrible at the ‘drama’ part of ‘family drama’,” Karkat criticizes. He looks away from the screen to shout to Kankri and Kanaya, “YOU’RE BOTH WRONG! NOW, SHUT YOUR YAP-TRAPS!”

You’re about to say something incredibly witty back at him when you hear a howl in the distance and nearly drop your phone. Your instincts are suddenly screaming at you to go to Eridan, but hell no. You’re awake, and you’re staying right where you are.

Karkat turns back to the computer, starts to say something, then looks confused. “Don’t you ever take those off?” he demands.

“What, the shades? My word, Karkat, are you trying to undress me already?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “They’re reflecting weirdly in your camera is all,” he tells you. “Keep them if you’re going to be anal about it.”

“Huh?” You glance to the tiny picture in the bottom right corner that shows what your own camera is transmitting. There are, in fact, two glowing orbs behind your shades, otherwise known as werewolf eyeballs. Awe goddammit. Quick, think about swords.

You’re about to make an excuse when you and Karkat see the same shadow of movement behind you in the camera's picture. “DAVE!” But before you can react, a spiked baseball bat collides with your rib cage and sends you flying across the patio. The phone skids away to the opposite corner.

Shit shit shit you can’t breathe everything hurts oh god

Gamzee fucking Makara looms over you, juggling his two murder-batons between his gnarled hands. “Well?” he says. “As I figure it, you’ve ’bout had time to get your think on an' see to how you won’t like bein’ fuckin’ dead.” The skull-masked berserker slides down the rooftop behind the patio (where Gamzee must’ve been lurking) to come join in on the fun. “So tell me where your alpha be at!”

You really do try to tell him that Eridan’s at the jail and visiting hours are posted on the website. What you actually say is something more akin to “Glrk!” and is followed by retching up blood, a process which is not aided by the fact that you are on your back and still having difficulty with breathing. Gamzee scowls down at you dispassionately, clearly wondering how the fuck he can get answers out of you by breaking you further because this is not a dude with a great handle on cause and effect.

And then Eridan howls again. This one actually communicates more than “Get your ass over here!” Some instinctual part of you recognizes it as “Hey what’s up? Why aren’t you even telling me to fuck off?”

Gamzee’s attention immediately swivels toward the source of the sound. He points off in the general direction. “FIND IT!” he commands the transformed berserker. The berserker jumps straight off the roof and out of sight.

Gamzee turns to you. Oh shit, if he thinks the berserker can find Eridan itself, then he doesn’t think he needs you alive enough to speak anymore. He steps toward you, and you force yourself to turn over onto your belly, to try to crawl away to you don’t even know where so long as Makara isn’t there. But he got you too badly. You can feel the werewolf magic trying to stitch you back together, but it can’t heal you faster than you’re bleeding out.

Gamzee raises his right club.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Gamzee drops his right club. He peers at the three bullet holes in his arm with absolutely no alarm, then looks in the direction the bullets came from.

Latula Pyrope has been sitting on top of the goddamn observatory this entire fucking time, apparently equipped with a sniper rifle. Okay. That’s good. Now your siblings will be safe. That’s good.

Gamzee roars at her pure rage.

BANG! Right in his left shoulder. Latula is not taking “rawr” for an answer today.

Gamzee tosses his remaining club into the air, catches it in his right hand, and swings down. BANGBANGBANG! BANGBANGBANG! He’s full of holes now, but he’s grinning because he got you in the back first. It concerns you that you felt the impact but not the pain. You think he might have just left the second club buried in your spine.

BANG! BANG! BANG! Latula’s done with warning shots and disabling shots. She’s getting him in the chest now. How much damage can a guy take?

Apparently, he’s finally starting to max out, because he flips her a double bird and then drops off the roof after the other berserker.

Latula doesn't waste time trying to pursue him. Instead, she slides down the dome of the telescope and starts sprinting across the roof, merely adapting her path when she takes the occasional slide. It’s okay. She did a good job. Everybody’s safe now, and you can sleep this off.

* * *

When you wake up, you have no clue where you are, which is becoming an unfortunately familiar situation. You try to sit up but absolutely everything hurts, so you settle for looking around first. You’re on a cot in somebody’s living room. A very small living room － they’d had to stack the coffee table vertically against the wall in order to give you plenty of space, so probably an apartment. There are voices in another room, but they run together. The tone sounds sharp, though. Roxy is sitting with her back to you, staring out the window with several guns on her lap.

You take a deep, careful breath, and say, “Hey.”

Roxy jumps out of her seat, guns clattering to the floor. “Oh my god, Dave, you’re awake!”

“Seems so.” Luckily, you don’t have to ask her where everybody is because they come rushing back in. Rufioh, Kankri, Bro, and Mom. This must be Rufioh’s apartment. Bro is immediately at your side, groping your pulse points and checking your eyes. “You’re good already?” you ask him, slurring a little. Despite having just woken up, you are really, really exhausted.

Bro hesitates, frowning. “Uh, dude, it’s Wednesday,” he says.

“Oh,” you say. Then, “What day did I die on?”

Bro’s fingers tighten on your wrist. “Passed out,” he corrects you. “You passed on Monday night.”

“Oh.” It must be during school hours because Tavros isn’t here, and probably Rose would be, too.

Rufioh is fidgeting nervously nearby, eying Bro like a walking timebomb. Finally, he says, “Okay, um, I understand your concern here, but I really need to look at him myself. Um, if you don’t mind, that is.”

Bro looks like he’d rather swallow a live lobster whole, but he eventually forces himself to stand up and take one single step back. Rufioh fidgets again momentarily, obviously debating whether he should (or even could) ask Bro to back up further. Instead, he settles for squeezing past to do much of the same checks Bro just did. He then asks you who’s president and what year it is, then has you recite the alphabet backwards. He checks how your eyes track. He listens to your breathing through a stethoscope. He asks you to wiggle your toes.

Frowning, he moves down to your legs, then places one hand under each calf. “Flex your toes far forward,” he tells you. And you do. Or… you thought you did? Mom is chewing on her fingernails, and Bro and Dirk have gone carefully blank. “Again?” You try again. Finally, Rufioh stands and, sounding a little relieved, announces, “There’s faint muscle movement. He’s not done healing though, so he’ll probably get his legs back in a few days. I think I might have an old chair in storage, if you need it. It would be small and worn out, but it’s better than carrying him around until he’s healed.”

Mom quirks a small smile. “I can rent one,” she says. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for all your help.”

Rufioh shrugs, but he’s blushing a little. “It’s really no problem,” he says. “It’s… literally what I do. Um. But if you do know his alpha, the alpha can lend power, help make sure he heals properly.”

You pull yourself up despite the pain and try to wiggle your toes again. You think you see them maybe flinch a little. Well… that’s cool. Great. Who needs legs anyway? “Well, I guess that’s one good thing about Eridan being in jail.”

Rufioh blinks at you, surprised. “Eridan Ampora’s your alpha?” he asks.

Mom and Dirk, however, have aimed rather pointed looks at the Bro, who is aiming his own at the floor. You look back and forth between the three of them, and then remember that you shouldn’t have been able to hear Eridan’s howling Monday night if he’d been in jail. “He’s not there anymore,” you realize.

Bro sighs. “In my idiot state, I decided that Cal was going to make me kill Eridan, and I had to let Eridan out so he wouldn’t be an easy target, so I slipped out of the apartment the second Mom let her guard down.”

“Oh god,” you moan. You collapse back onto your cot with a groan. “Aradia’s gonna fucking kill me.”

“Aradia?” asks Dirk, his tone surprised and confused.

“I was supposed to bro-date her to this dance thing on Friday because no one else would ask her,” you explain.

Rufioh just shrugs and stands, briefly rubbing at his lower back like an old man. Pft. “Meh, if Tavros can do it, I’m sure you’ll be able to manage something by Friday,” he said. “What we really need to talk to you about is Karkat.”

You sit up again immediately. _Too_ immediately, actually. Ow. “What about Karkat?” you demand. “Is he okay? Oh god, he was on chat with me when Gamzee attacked. Did Gamzee think he knew something?”

“No,” says Mom. “But he had the Maryam sisters take him over immediately, believing you in danger, and not knowing what was happening due to the fact that your dropped phone was pointed at the sky. Latula had already gotten you inside and downstairs and called for Rufioh and for us, but Karkat didn’t know. He was worried. When he came in… you were still transformed.”


End file.
